


To Be Needed

by Mx_Dragon



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Bottom Kanji Tatsumi, Character Study, Coming In Pants, Drunk Sex, M/M, Making Out, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Possessive Sex, Top Persona 4 Protagonist, Unrequited Love, did I mention the last-minute angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24153661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mx_Dragon/pseuds/Mx_Dragon
Summary: "Right now, though, he doesn't care about what Kanji needs. It feels too good to be defined solely by Kanji'swant. To be just a body, a tongue, a hand, a heart. To lose himself in all this power and focus and intimacy, let it overwhelm him like selfishness. To gratify that intoxicatingly lonely Shadow, even when he knows how little of Kanji it really is and how much they'll both probably hate themselves in the morning."
Relationships: Naoto Shirogane/Tatsumi Kanji mention, Narukami Yu/Tatsumi Kanji, Persona 4 Protagonist / Everyone mention, Persona 4 Protagonist/Tatsumi Kanji, Seta Souji/Tatsumi Kanji
Comments: 1
Kudos: 72





	To Be Needed

After Mitsuo's arrest, Yosuke enlists Teddie's help to raid the shadow liquor store in the TV World, saying that their victory celebration should include Saki Konishi in spirit. Their evening-long party down by the floodplain ends only after Teddie throws up all over himself, forcing Yosuke to drag him home. Yukiko (with a luminescent blush and an unusually sly smirk) escorts a staggering, belligerent Chie to the Amagi Inn, leaving Souji, Kanji, and Rise to meander home together.

When they reach the door of Tatsumi Textiles, Rise teases, “Don't get into any trouble without me!” and disappears into Marukyu Tofu with a flirtatious wink. Kanji leans on his shoulder against the storefront wall, head bowed. He doesn't say anything—though he looks almost like he wants to—but he doesn't go inside, either.

In the suddenly awkward silence, Souji almost waves goodnight and lets that be that. Then he pauses as a niggling worry seeps to the surface of his liquor-sodden brain. _If his mom finds him like this in the morning...or right now, if he can't get up the stairs quiet enough..._ He asks, “Hey, y'sure you're okay?”

There is a slurred mumble that Souji can't even guess at. He turns back, stumbling a little, and peers at the crown of the blond head. The moon is almost a sliver and he's had too many shots of Mori Ranmaru for the sparse streetlights to be any help; he tries to grip Kanji's jaw to pull his head up, get a good look into his face. But none of the right muscles work like they should and the grip turns out more like a gentle cupping. The tiniest hum of a sigh escapes the boy in front of him. Before he can think better of it, he caresses Kanji's cheek.

Kanji fucking _purrs_ , eyes sliding half-shut, leaning his head into the soft touch like a love-starved cat. Souji's face heats and he can feel the beginnings of a really, really bad idea working its way through him. _He's drunk, we're both really drunk, I shouldn't even think about—_ About what? The squashed fantasies, the half-remembered dreams, that have proliferated like weeds ever since he saw that shadow sauna?

But Kanji beats him to the punch. “Senpai? I...d'you...?” Something like panic flickers in Kanji's darkened eyes. Souji mentally kicks himself—for what, he isn't completely sure.

Then, though, Kanji's jaw tightens. Whatever alcohol-soaked thinking he's still capable of has concluded that cowardice is worse than humiliation. “Y'know I trust ya, right?” he says, in a tone that anyone else would hear as challenging.

It's Souji, though, and he can't help but smile. “You've said stuff like that before.” Then he can't help but add, “Say it again if you want. It always makes me happy.”

An odd look comes over Kanji's face—determination, longing, a slightly addled grin caught between joy and nervousness. Before Souji can react, his back thuds against the shop's front door and the stars are blocked out and Kanji's mouth is pressed hard to his.

The kiss is plain, awkward, inexperienced. There's no nipping teeth or flickering tongue, just a firm, steady pressure of chapped lips and the suck of boozy breath. But it still leaves Souji hot and weak all over.

When Kanji abruptly lets go, apology already half-formed, Souji pushes him back against the wall and shoves his tongue down his throat.

His hands ruck up Kanji's tight skull shirt to roam the angles and planes of wiry muscle underneath. The younger boy is taller, much stronger, but he melts at every touch, panting and squirming against Souji. When his fingertips slip over his nipples, Kanji breaks their kiss to gasp. Souji pinches them experimentally and is rewarded by what can only be called a whimper. Drunker and now hornier than he's ever been in his life, Souji doesn't think before dropping to his knees to lick them.

He hears that intoxicating whimper again and a pair of strong hands grip his shoulders. When he sucks one while rolling the other firmly between his fingers, Kanji starts grinding his clothed hard-on into Souji's torso, making strange little panting moans. It gives Souji a voracious thrill he's never felt before—to have the fierce delinquent pinned against a wall, helpless in every way, coming undone when he's barely touched him. To know he's the reason that Kanji can hardly stay standing.

That thrill is pushing him forward, the desire to take, to possess. His touches get rougher; his suckles turn into bites. Kanji's fingers suddenly dig into his back. His hips buck hard and then subside into a weak trembling.

 _D-did he just...?_ Souji's cock throbs unbearably. He looks up to find his kouhai flushed and breathless, heavy-lidded eyes locked on him in desire and disbelief, the tip of his tongue still peeking from kiss-swollen lips. Drowned in pleasure.

The urge to touch him—to do _that_ to him again—is irresistible.

Unsteadily, head swimming with alcohol and lust, Souji struggles to his feet. He cuts off Kanji's embarrassed mutter of “S-senpai...” with yet another deep kiss, pressing as much of them together as he can. His hands snake over him again, exploring the lean, taut, muscled body that at this moment belongs completely to him. Every hiss and soft moan, coming from someone who always tries so hard to resist weakness, to fight what comes naturally, rushes heat to Souji's groin. He grinds their hips together, just to hear the answering throaty groan and feel the stickiness of Kanji's release seeping through his pants. Then he pulls back, drinking in the other boy's indescribable expression, and asks, “Wanna do that again?”

“Uh...” Kanji's gaze flicks from Souji to the ground to the starry sky and back. His husky mumble of “yeah” is almost inaudible.

Souji means to take Kanji's hand to lead him inside, but something makes him first raise it to his mouth and suck. Kanji's eyes go wide and Souji has to smirk at his garbled noise. He lets each finger pop out one by one from his lips before he purrs, “So let's get inside.”

* * *

They try to sneak through the shop, up the stairs, and down the hallway like they're moving through the TV World—eyes darting, stances balanced to flee or freeze at every creak. Instead they stumble, shush each other loudly, and in general sound like a herd of drunken elephants. But no light flicks on. No door creaks open. No sleepy voice calls.

They make it to the bedroom and Souji is on Kanji again before awkwardness can gape between them. An energy almost like battle has consumed him; he can't give quarter, can't find a way to move that isn't directed at taking Kanji apart.

The backs of Kanji's knees hit the bed. He stumbles backward with a heart-stopping thud and a lap full of Souji—who locks his thighs around Kanji's hips, greedy for contact.

“How d'you want me?” he mutters, lips brushing the shell of his ear, barely louder than a hot, moist breath. They're pressed so close, almost frotting together, that Souji feels the answering throb of Kanji's cock in his own. He can't resist grinding down on him until Kanji has collapsed back onto his elbows and they've both forgotten the question.

But when he attacks his mouth again, tongue fucking deep, Kanji's head falls back with that same mind-blanking whimper from before, and through a wave of sharp desire Souji realizes that _this_ is how Kanji wants him—overwhelming, indulging, gratifying. (Worshiping seems like the wrong word, even as it seems like the only word.)

He pushes up Kanji's shirt, licking and nipping every inch of new skin as it's exposed, until his kouhai's muscles tremble from stimulation. Until all he has to do is lean forward to push Kanji flat on his back.

He crawls down Kanji's body—sucking and biting to make him moan, mouthing soft, lingering kisses just to taste the salt traces on his fevered skin—and fumbles at his zipper. His fingertips are half-numb with alcohol, but finally, the button pops through and he pulls the pants off, sticky boxers and all. Souji breathes in the overpowering smell of sex, wets his lips, loving how the dark-flushed cock bobs at his slightest breath. He can feel Kanji's captivated stare like a lustful hand—and suddenly he wants to suck that cock, just so Kanji can watch.

He can't think of a reason why not. He can't think of anything right now but the boy splayed out over the bed, all for him, more than ready to take. So he drags his tongue along the inside of one toned upper thigh.

“Fuck!” Kanji hisses. He immediately bites his knuckles, but Souji can still hear him moaning curses as he licks higher, just barely avoiding where Kanji most desperately needs touch. He finishes one side and starts over again on the other, cleaning up every smear of bitter-salt mess with exaggerated care until Kanji is leaking freely. He's so worked up he almost howls, clutching at the sheets, when Souji finally slurps his cock into his mouth.

Then something even better occurs to him and Souji pulls back again, ignoring Kanji's groan of frustration. “Can I put my finger inside you?”

The question takes a moment to process. Then Souji bites his lip at the warring shock, embarrassment, and eagerness on Kanji's face. It's just so characteristically open, undisguised. Honest. Yet so uncharacteristically...cute.

Finally Kanji nods. Souji licks his finger sloppily, curling his tongue, enjoying the way Kanji can't help but stare back. Then, slow and steady, he pushes inside.

Souji wants to engrave it all into his memory: Kanji's swollen wet cock that twitches with every centimeter deeper. His inner muscles that both resist and grab at the invading finger. The blush that stands out like a burn on his pale cheekbones. His heaving chest and fluttering abs, the sweat growing sticky on his hip where Souji's other hand is holding him. Arousal weighs as hot as contamination under Souji's skin, but he has almost forgotten his own body. He's kneeling like an idiot with shirt and pants half undone, because the world has narrowed down to his greedy senses and the finger shoved knuckle-deep inside his shaking, panting kouhai.

And when he crooks that finger, Kanji's eyes slide almost shut. “A-ah...” he breathes.

Immediately, he tries to hide his flushed face in his arm. Souji doesn't let up, though, and Kanji can't hold back the high, airy moans that stutter from his throat. But it's still not enough. Whatever has possessed Souji wants to hear Kanji sob and scream, see him writhe, unravel every knot of shame in his heart until he can admit that he loves being loved.

What if his other friends saw him like this—eaten whole by his hunger, mastered by his desire for mastery? If they knew how empty he really was, how would they fill him? Whatever they wanted, he'd become, if it meant being as close to them as he needed. His gut clenches at the thought of using and being used. Of kneeling between Yukiko's legs, her hands tangled painfully in his hair, wanting control and permission to be selfish. Yosuke fucking him from behind, muttering curses and endearments he thinks Souji can't hear, wanting to be forgiven. Rise wrapping her calves around his back, wanting to  _feel_ instead of merely  _be seen_ . Teddie moaning into his mouth and squirming as Souji teaches him  the secret that so many humans share in the dark . Chie riding him hard, simultaneously conquering and caring for him. And Kanji, wanting to be accepted, all of them just wanting to be accepted, and he'd meet them on their own terms and be absorbed...

Something cracks open inside him. “Y-you look so hot right now,” Souji pants. “I just wanna t-touch you and, and listen to your voice when you feel good and I'll make you feel so fucking good, Kanji, just let me take care of you...” The almost-filth, almost-sweetness just keeps spilling out; he can't seem to say enough. Or maybe he just can't make it  _mean_ enough. But the world dips alarmingly and Souji has to remind himself to breathe.  
Kanji is staring at him, a fantastic, stricken look halfway between shock and starvation. “Shut up,” he mumbles without any force. “D-don't say that shit. You don't mean it.” His voice is hoarse and he swallows hard.

The crack shudders wider and Souji can't stand to wait another second, can't think of any way to say what he needs other than devouring his kouhai alive. He pulls his hand back to lick his second finger, then slowly presses both back inside, relishing Kanji's small gasps of pure sensation. Then Souji seals his lips around his cock again, tongue flickering over the head, fingertips rubbing hard against the rough inner spot he found before. He reads every word he's dying to hear— _please touch me, kiss me,_ _take_ _me, love me, more more more_ —in Kanji's overwhelmed keen.  
Kanji bites his knuckles again, struggling to keep quiet. But his control erodes until he's moaning “Fuck, fuck...!” in a litany, until his words just fall apart and his cries take on a little kick in pitch that climbs higher with every thrust. Then, oh, _hell yes_ , he starts rocking his hips to push himself down on Souji's hand, just letting everything go. And as Kanji's cock throbs on his tongue and Kanji's ass clenches around his fingers and Kanji's voice falls down the register from sweet wail to dark growl, Souji moans like he's coming his brains out, too.

He pulls back to lick his lips clean, still close enough for his tongue to flick oversensitive flesh and force one last weak gasp out of his kouhai. He's only half-conscious of what he's doing. He's staring up at Kanji, enraptured. Greedy.

_Yes...that's what I want._ Souji would never tell him this—hell, he hates himself a little for thinking it—but right now, Kanji's face looks just like his Shadow's. Shamelessly pleasured and shamelessly demanding more.  _Why can't I see him like this all the time?_

Souji is there for people; that's just who he is. He listens so closely that they uncover what they possess and what they're missing, without him needing to say more than a few words. If he has a Shadow, it's his hunger to be needed. He understands the allure of being depended on, and beyond that, the happiness of granting happiness. Chie's dark self was not unfamiliar to him.

Then again, neither was Teddie's. If there's a reason he doesn't have a Shadow...it's how insubstantial a self he truly has. How thoroughly he can become whoever people need most, changing shape to interlock with their unique virtues and vices.

Right now, though, he doesn't care about what Kanji needs. It feels too good to be defined solely by Kanji's _want_. To be just a body, a tongue, a hand, a heart. To lose himself in all this power and focus and intimacy, let it overwhelm him like selfishness. To gratify that intoxicatingly lonely Shadow, even when he knows how little of Kanji it really is and how much they'll both probably hate themselves in the morning.

With a small noise, Kanji wriggles off his fingers, eyes resolutely cast down, and for a moment Souji fears that that morning has already arrived. But then Kanji drags him up his body, smearing sweat and come over their bellies. He grabs his hair, locking his calves behind his knees, and kisses him with a heat he can't possibly still feel after everything Souji has done to him. Souji squirms against his sinewy frame, eyes fluttering at the friction on his neglected erection and the thought that Kanji is tasting his own come in his mouth.

Suddenly Kanji rolls, pinning Souji beneath him. His voice is a hot breath in Souji's ear: “Let me...l-lemme...” A hand gropes at Souji's unzipped pants, pushing them down just enough to stroke his aching cock. Souji's head falls back and Kanji suckles a dark, tingling bruise into his neck until he teeters on the edge.

Then Kanji sits up on his knees to straddle Souji, one hand braced on the bed, the other—

Souji almost screams. The head of his cock is suddenly squeezed by indescribable heat. After being so hard for so long, the pleasure is intense enough to hurt. And Kanji stares down at him, panting with exertion.

Is this what his face had looked like before? That fiery gaze, bent on overwhelming, consuming, _owning_? Kanji shifts his weight to Souji's shoulders and pushes down harder with a groan. Souji gives a shapeless cry, clutching at whatever warm skin he can reach. He's so agonizingly close—any second now, he's going to lose himself, revert to the empty vessel and unformed clay he really is. Give himself over to every last thing Kanji wants.

Kanji rides him like his pride depends on it. Souji convulses, mewing helplessly, and burns out like a fuse.

* * *

When Kanji begs the Detective Prince to make him a man, Souji says nothing. After all, it's what his kouhai needs.

And if Kanji can convince himself that Naoto is a girl, then Souji can convince himself that his heart isn't breaking at all.


End file.
